Shuddering Darkness
by CamsthiSky
Summary: Jason hadn't meant to let any of this happen. It happened anyways.


**I've been working on this for the past couple months, and this is something like the fourth or fifth time I've rewritten it. The last draft was less than 6k. This one is about 400 words short of 8k. It's been a long time since I've had to wrangle a fic so much, but I just think it's because it's from Jason's POV and Jason's always tought for me to write in general.**

 **Thanks to those of you who donated! I really appreciate it!**

* * *

"A case?" Dick asked, sounding bewildered. "And you need my help _why?"_

Jason scowled underneath his helmet. Dick couldn't see it, but it was totally aimed his way, and it made Jason feel a bit better. He hated to go running to Dick like this, but he was running out of time and options.

An up and coming drug lord, Darren Sommers, was trying to expand his drug business by kidnapping children straight from the streets of Gotham and hooking them on his new experimental drugs. The more kids he hooked, the more people seemed to be interested. He was also one of the most revolting men Jason had ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on, and he'd met a lot of disgusting men. Killed a lot of them, too.

Only, most of the others didn't have a lot of backup. Sommers did. Seven beefy guys armed to their teeth. All of them obviously professionals. Traps all around his base of operations.

Jason hated to admit it, even to himself, but he wasn't going to be able to take this guy down by himself, especially when he didn't know how Sommers was even getting to these kids on Red Hood's watch.

He hadn't wanted to go to Nightwing, but he wasn't sure if waiting for a few nights to look for the help he _wanted_ would damn even more kids. Some part of him thinks he should feel grateful it was Dick he'd run into tonight, instead of Bruce or the Demon Brat, but Jason's not up to feeling the gratitude right now.

"I can't figure out how Sommers is getting to the kids in Crime Alley," Jason told him, crossing his arms in front of him, "so I need you to see if B has anything on the guy in his files. Something that gives me an edge."

"I can do that," Dick said pretty easily, but he was still giving Jason a weird look, doing that stupid head tilt thing that reminded Jason of a dog. "But you know you can check yourself. B isn't going to mind you in the Cave."

"I don't have time," Jason fibbed.

Which, yeah. He was stretched a little thin, but he might have been able to make time to search through the Batcmoputer's files for a few minutes. But he and Bruce were still on rocky ground, and Jason wasn't sure if showing up out of the blue was going to make the ground give out from under them. It seemed like half the time Bruce opened his mouth, Jason ended up wanting to punch his damn teeth out.

Luckily, Dick accepted the answer, even if it was with an understanding nod and a sad smile. "Yeah, no problem, Hood. I'll get back with you tomorrow night."

Jason nodded, and they went their separate ways, Dick—for once—not begging Jason to stay a few more minutes and talk, or come back to the manor, or find the other. He seemed to sense Jason's rapidly declining mood, which wasn't hard. Even Jason knew he was snappier than usual, no snark or sarcasm to be found.

Jason just wanted a bullet in Sommers' head, so those kids wouldn't have to worry if they were going to disappear next. Sommers was in Red Hood's territory, and he was going to pay.

* * *

"He has a son," Dick told him when he dropped onto the rooftop next to Jason. His voice was trembling, and he looked withdrawn. Angry, but he was bottling it up. Maybe if Jason knew Dick just a bit less than he did, he wouldn't have picked up on it. But he did know Dick. And Dick was _pissed._

"What?" Jason asked, his voice quiet, because he couldn't have heard right.

"Sommers has a son," Dick said again—and that was more than anger. That was _rage_ Goldie was giving off in waves. No unusual for Dick Grayson, Jason knew, but a lot rarer nowadays. With the Demon Brat around, Dick's temper didn't show its ugly face much. But now? It was almost palpable. Jason would hate to be Sommers right now.

"What does that have to do with the kids disappearing?" Jason wondered, his eyebrows furrowing. "He—oh. _Oh._ Son of a _bitch."_

"Yeah." Dick didn't sound so angry anymore. His shoulders dropped, and he ran a hand over his masked face. "He's been using his own son."

It made sense, as sick as it was. The bastard was using his own kid as a spy on the streets so that he could snatch the other kids. The other kids didn't trust grownups, but for the most part, they were okay with other kids. A bit wary, but nothing like it'd be with an adult.

And somehow Sommers had come to that conclusion, too, and had used his own son as a means to an end.

This information made Jason's gut twist in anger and revulsion, because Jason's remembered another kid, eager to please someone he looked up to as a father, being given a uniform that would get him killed a few years later.

And Dick, too, had been Robin. Had _created_ Robin, becoming something of a brightness for the people of Gotham to see and trust, or distract before Batman swooped in and took over the situation. The two situations lined up too well, and Jason felt as the anger gripped its claw in his skin. He knew from experience they wouldn't let go anytime soon, so he embraced.

He would _use_ it.

"I'm leaving," Jason said, his voice wavering in his own rage.

Dick's head snapped up. "I'm coming with you."

"What?" Jason asked. "No way."

"You already for me involved, Hood," Dick argued. "Just let me help."

Jason actually found himself considering it. Dick was an amazing fighter, and an amazing detective. Jason knew that working with Dick on this would double his chances of catching this guy before he got too far.

 _But._ Working with Dick also brought up a few problems. He was already working with the Bats wat too often as it was, aiming for non-lethal spots when he was with them, and sometimes even using _rubber bullets._ If Dick tagged along, Jason would either have to intentionally not kill the guy, or Dick would try to stop him.

(He _could_ always try to gut Sommers later, though, when Dick wasn't looking, because this guy needed to be off his streets. _Permanently._ )

"Fine," Jason said at last. "But we do this my way."

"No killing."

Jason gritted his teeth, even though he'd been expecting it. " _Fine._ You follow my lead, but no killing. Agreed?"

Dick shot him a smile. "Agreed."

Jason turned away, taking out his grapple and shooting it in the direction he knew Sommers' base was. He was going to get this bastard, and he was going to put a bullet through his head. He didn't care how long he had to wait.

* * *

"What are we doing?" Dick asked, looking confused as they crept towards the skylight of the warehouse.

Jason didn't answer, too busy peering in and— _yes._ There he was. Derek Sommers' son _was_ in the warehouse. He couldn't have been older than twelve, fiddling with a game on his tablet, and Jason couldn't help the disgust that roiled in his stomach again as he thought about how Sommers was using his own kid.

He had to try very hard not to think about Batman while he looked between the kid and Sommers, who was standing on the other side of the warehouse, talking on the phone as he looked over a stack of packages, probably all filled with the experimental drug.

"Red Hood?"

"Okay, here's the deal," Jason said, finally looking up at Dick. "I've cased this warehouse three times, and this is the first time I've ever seen his son here. We need to get him out of here before we can go all out.

"Problem is," Jason continued, "there's about seven bodyguards down there, all armed to the teeth. One of them is bound to be watching the kid, since he's basically the delivery service."

"We'll need a distraction," Dick realized. "You or me?"

"Me," Jason replied immediately. "As soon I go in, you get the kid, and you _get out._ Hide him at the nearest safe house, and come back so we can finish the job."

He probably could have worded that a little better, but Dick didn't seem to pick up on it. Instead he shifted minutely, and grimaced at what they could see through the skylight.

"What?" Jason snapped.

Dick looked up at him. "Look, I know I agreed to follow your lead, but eight men is a lot to distract at one time by yourself. Maybe we should call Red Robin or Batgirl as backup, just in case this goes south."

"We don't have time for that," Jason told him, his voice cold. "And I know the best way to take these guys down. They hit hard and pack heavy, so knock out their footing and they crumble. They're not invincible."

"Neither are you."

Jason made an irritated noise in the back of his throat. "Look, Nightwing, this is the first time the kid's actually been here in the past week and a half since I tracked Sommers down, and Sommers looks like he's getting ready for another delivery. This _can't_ wait."

Dick still looked unsure, but he sighed. "Fine, but the second something looks like it's going wrong, I'm calling for backup."

"Fine," Jason spit out. "Now get ready."

Once Dick had successfully snuck in, in position to grab the kid and beat it, Jason had eased open the skylight, making sure not to let the hinges creak. He threw a few smoke pellets in the direction of the men and the packages, and once they hit the ground, Sommers and the guards engulfed in smoke, Jason fell through the skylight himself.

He landed right on the edge of the cloud, watched as Dick snatched the kid and whisked him away in silence, and then he threw himself into the cloud, determined to take down as many men as he could while he had the advantage of surprise. He had to buy time for Dick to hide the kid and then loop back around to help him take these goons out.

The smoke lasted about three minutes, and in that time, Jason had taken out three guards (they didn't go down as easily as he'd hoped). He had four left, and then Sommers himself. His opponents recovered, though, and that's when the shooting started. Jason rolled away from a shot, taking covering behind a pillar, and shooting back when he got an opening.

He managed to take down one more guard when Dick suddenly fell from the ceiling, surprising one of the other guards, leaving two more and Sommers for Jason to handle. Dick took him out fairly easily, and Jason laid cover fire for him when the remaining men tried to go for him.

And of course, that's when Dick decided to get even closer.

The thing is, Jason knew how to fight close combat. He was _good_ at it, too. Still, he used guns for things like this, and he kept his distance, perfectly timing his shots to use the least amount of ammo as possible without getting his face shot off or something like that. He was good at both.

Dick, though. Dick was a close combat fighter through and through, and it was just now that Jason realized he wasn't very effective in a firefight. Sure, Dick could weave and flip through a spray of bullets like no other, movements too unpredictable to shoot at properly, but that didn't make him immune to a stray shot or two.

And when Dick elbowed one of the two guards still standing in the face, and Jason cursed when he realized how _exposed_ Dick was in that position. Especially when the last remaining guard lifted his gun and aimed it at Dick—and Jason was sure Dick's heart was the target.

 _"Nightwing!"_ Jason yelled, raising his gun, and not even hesitating to pull the trigger at the shooter.

He was too late, though. The guard that had shot at Dick crumpled to the ground at the same time that Dick cried out in pain, barely completing his swing to the face of the guy he was fighting before he crumpled to the floor.

He didn't get back up.

Jason cursed again, hurrying towards Dick while the last guard stumbled around rubbing at his jaw. Sommers had slipped away during the fight, but Jason couldn't care less at this point. Up close, Jason could see that Dick wasn't bleeding from just one bullet hole, but _three._

Dammit.

"Get up off your fucking ass, Nightwing," Jason snapped, even as he hauled the unconscious vigilante over his shoulders in a fireman's carry, and lugged him out of the warehouse.

That guard, the one Dick had hit in the face, was still moving, and Jason had seen a few more guards stirring. Not to mention that Jason didn't think Sommers would stay hidden very long. Not while his kid was missing. No, they'd come after Dick and Jason the moment they regrouped. Jason needed to get the two of them out of here. Fast.

The problem was, though, the only safe house nearby was the one where Dick had stashed the kid, and if Sommers regrouped fast enough, Jason could be leading them right back to the boy.

Jason didn't know where else to go, though.

After a few minutes of lugging Dick away from the warehouse, Jason finally found an alley where he could put Dick down for a moment and assess the situation.

He'd fucked up. Badly. He should have taken Dick seriously when he'd told Jason to call in backup. But he'd been so blinded by the fact that Sommers had used his own _son,_ like sometimes Jason swore Bruce did without realizing, that he'd just gotten too angry. Let his emotions cloud his judgment.

Dick, Jason, Tim, Steph, and now Damian. All Robins thrown into a uniform at too young of an age. Now stuck they were all stuck in this world without a way out. There was no way that any of them could be normal anymore, and Jason thought that Bruce should have realized that after he _died_ , and yet the Replacement had still become Jason's _replacement._

There were times that Jason thought that he was finally able to take a step away from thinking about that, about letting that fact cloud his judgement. But it infuriated him. _Blinded_ him. To the point where he screwed up and made shitty decisions that led to his brother bleeding out without a safe place to recuperate.

He should have listened to Dick for once in his goddamn life and called backup.

But it was too late for _shoulda, coulda, woulda_ 's and Jason needed to get back on track. Dick's mouth was slack, his head lolling back against the alley wall. Jason had to take a glove off to check his pulse, and he sighed in relief when he found it easily. It was weak, but still there.

The bullets hadn't hit anything that suggested that Dick was going to die here and now, either. There was a bullet in his right arm, one in his upper left thigh, and the last—the one that Jason had barely prevented hitting Dick's chest—was in his right shoulder. No arteries hit. The Kevlar seemed to have taken most of the impact and slowed the bullets down.

So that begged the question, why wasn't Dick awake by now? It couldn't be blood loss. Jason had seen Dick lose more blood and stay standing, not to mention Dick had dropped like a puppet with his string cuts. Nothing like a faint.

Jason resisted the urge to punch something, and decided it was better to mark the problem of Dick being unconscious for later. Right now, Jason was a little more worried about where he was going to drag Dick's ass to keep the two of them and the kid safe.

After putting a couple pressure bandages on the wounds to make sure Dick didn't bleed out on him any time soon, Jason took off his helmet, took the comm. unit from Dick's ear, and put it in his own. He didn't have one that he could connect to the Bat frequency—which was just _another_ gap between him and Bruce—but Jason was glad that Dick, at least, wore his. It would make things a little easier.

He tapped the comm. "Red Hood to Red Robin."

 _"Red Hood?"_ Tim's voice came in, sounding almost bewildered. _"What are you doing on this line?"_

"I'm borrowing 'Wing's comm.," Jason said. "Nightwing's down and he needs medical attention."

 _"Take him to Leslie's,"_ Tim told him, his voice strained. _"Or the Cave. Just don't involve Nightwing in your stupid grudge with—"_

"That's not the problem here," Jason snapped. "We're being pursued, we've got no mode of transportation besides grapple hooks, and Nightwing's not in any condition to swing. Hell, he's not even conscious. I need an extraction. _Yesterday."_

There was a pause, a burst of static that had Jason flinching and rubbing his ear, and then Tim was back on the comms. _"I'm on the way with the Batmobile, and I'm following Nightwing's GPS. Hang on."_

"ETA?"

 _"Ten minutes."_

"We don't have that kind of time," Jason breathed out. "They could be on us any minute."

 _"Give me something I can work with, Hood,"_ Tim growled, sounding too much like Bruce for Jason's liking. _"I can't magically transport there. I've still got to drive all the way across town."_

"Sewers," Jason said, the word tasting sour on his tongue. "I'm going to take Nightwing and hide in the sewers for ten minutes. They shouldn't know to follow us in there, but it's probably going to suck for Nightwing."

 _"I can't track your signal in there. I won't be able to get to you until you get out."_

Jason thought hard and fast, putting his helmet on over Dick's comm. unit and then lifting Dick back onto his shoulders. "We're on the edge of Crime Alley," Jason finally said. "It might be a little tricky, but I'm going to try to make it to Robbinsville. Where are you right now?"

 _"Upper West Side."_

"What are you doing there?"

 _"Long story. Robbinsville?"_

"Yeah."

 _"I'll be there in eleven minutes. Don't die."_

"Been there, done that," Jason told him.

 _"Fine,"_ Tim snapped. _"Don't let Nightwing die, then. He's your responsibility until I get there. Red Robin out."_

Jason rolled his eyes, huffing out an annoyed breath. Sure, Tim seemed to have grown a back bone since Jason had last spoken to him, and Jason would be somewhat amused if the situation weren't so messed up. But he'd also like it if Tim didn't automatically start assuming the worst of him. He wasn't going to mess up a second time.

Sighing, Jason for the manhole cover nearest him. Tim to go sewer diving. This was going to be fun.

* * *

Not fun. _So_ not fun.

First of all, Dick was _heavy,_ and trekking through sewer water with Dick on his back was horrible _._ Man. What Jason wouldn't give for a shower. The worst part, though, was that Jason wore he could hear voices behind them, and he hated the burst of panic he felt at the thought of Sommers and his guard chasing them.

"Damn it," Jason whispered, the word echoing around them. The walls felt like they were closing in, and Jason didn't like the uncomfortable prickling under his skin. He didn't want to stay down here any longer than he had to. It was too reminiscent of memories long past.

 _"Think…this way,"_ Jason heard someone say, the voice echoing and bouncing around the sewer walls so that he couldn't tell how far away it was, and _damn it all._ They had _actually_ followed Jason and Dick into the sewers.

And of course Dick chose that moment to groan in pain, and Jason heard another, _"This way! I heard something!"_ coming towards them, and Jason hoofed it as quietly as he could. It was only when he passed by a small little alcove in the wall that he paused, barely large enough for Jason to squeeze through.

It would be unpleasant, and they'd be trapped if Sommers decided to look in there, but one look inside told Jason that it would probably _just_ fit him and Dick. And with Dick on his back slowing him down, Jason would never outrun their pursuers.

Jason took the chance. It was their best option at this point.

It took some maneuvering, but Jason got them but situated in the hole just as Sommers and his guard—two guards, dammit. One was cradling his jaw and the other was limping. It looked like Jason hadn't shot him enough times—passed by them.

"Where did they go?" the guard with the hurt jaw asked as he walked by.

"They can't have gone far," Sommers insisted, urging them onwards. "And based on their direction, they're heading for Robbinsville. Keep going. If we don't find them in the sewers, we'll cut them off on the streets."

Jason held his breath until the men turned the corner, and then kept holding it until all Jason could hear was indistinct murmurs that echoed along the sewer walls.

And then it was just Jason, Dick, and some sewer water in this uncomfortable hole. Lovely.

Jason sighed and let his head rock back against the wall. The only way for both him and Dick to fit and not be lying on top of each other had been to pull Dick practically onto his lap, Dick's back pressed to his chest and his head resting on Jason's shoulder.

He was just getting ready to lift them both out of this hellhole and start the long trek through more dirty sewer water when Dick groaned. Jason froze.

"Nightwing?" Jason asked.

Dick groaned again, rolling his head back and forth restlessly as his face scrunched up in pain.

"Hey," Jason said. "I really need you to wake up now, because the less I have to carry your gigantic ass, the happier I'll be."

"Where're we?" Dick slurred, and Jason couldn't tell whether his eyes were open or closed with the domino mask on, but he supposed it didn't matter either way. Jason was just glad he was even talking. "Jason?"

"Are you awake?"

Dick hummed, and then his nose wrinkled up. "Why does it smell like a sewer?"

"Because we're sitting in a sewer," Jason told him. Something had seemed to settle at the sound of Dick's voice. "You dropped like a rock and I had to haul you out of that warehouse. Do you know how much you weigh?"

"Yes," Dick breathed, sounding more exasperated than anything. Then he tensed up. "Backup?"

"Red Robin's on his way," Jason told him.

Dick didn't respond to that. He stayed still, barely breathing, and panic rose back up in Jason. Had Dick fallen unconscious again—no. No, Dick was too tense for that. There was something else wrong, and Jason was just about to ask when Dick said, his voice barely above a whisper, "God, my shoulder hurts."

"You got shot, genius," Jason said, but his words fell flat, because Dick was keeping abnormally still. Which almost _never_ happened. There wasn't really a time where Dick wasn't moving.

"Doesn't feel like a bullet wound," Dick told him, gritting his teeth, the tendons in his neck standing out, and Jason felt that panic double. There was something really, _really_ wrong here. "I feel like I'm on fire or something."

Jason was at a loss. The only way he'd be able to check Dick's shoulder was if he took off the pressure bandage and the Nightwing suit. But in the sewers? That was just asking for an infection. Not to mention Jason could feel their time slowly slipping away from them. _Eleven minutes._ How much time had already passed? Seven? Eight?

Not to mention the fact that Jason was starting to feel the walls close in on him again. They were stuck here in this hole barely big enough for the two of them. It was dark, enclosed, and it was starting to feel more and more like a different time. And the only way Jason was stave off those memories was to keep himself focused on Dick. On their task.

They needed to get out of here.

"Can you walk?" Jason asked.

Dick grunted, and Jason took it as a yes. He was careful about levering Dick up, but maybe not as much as he could have been as they squeezed back out of the hole. Still, the entire time, Dick kept quiet. The only thing that told Jason how bad Dick was feeling was his tight expression and heavy breathing.

Jason pulled Dick's left arm over his shoulders, wrapped his own arm around Dick's waist, and they started forward. Dick leaned most of his weight against him, but Jason didn't care at this point. It was better than carrying him.

Getting out of here, though, was probably going to be hell. But they _had_ to.

After a short while, Dick apparently found enough breath to start talking sparsely again, but his voice was as tight with pain as his expression was, and Jason wondered if maybe he should tell the idiot to shut up or not. But just the thought of silence as they walked through the sewers made Jason want to let go of Dick and sprint forward, _away from here_ , so he didn't.

"I hid the kid in the safe house," Dick breathed out as a conversation starter. "Called Oracle, too. She's taking care of him until the Commissioner…can come pick him up."

That made Jason feel a little better. "Did he go willingly?"

Dick's head drooped as he started to surrender a little more weight to Jason. Jason adjusted, and they kept going. "Kind of. I had to explain…the situation. He told us—" Dick laughs breathlessly. "He told us to kick his dad's ass for him, though. Said if we didn't, he'd do it himself."

Jason huffed out an amused breath. "Wish I could have been there for that conversation."

Dick hummed. "He reminded me of—of another spunky kid I knew. All he needed was a tire iron."

"You weren't even there for that," Jason said, rolling his eyes.

"Didn't have to be," Dick teased. "I've heard the story enough to visualize it. Still can't believe you smacked B with a tire iron."

"I was a kid," Jason defended himself. "And tires would have brought in a lot more money than begging. Especially _those_ tires."

Dick laughed again, but it had a slightly loopy quality to it, and he didn't speak once he'd caught his breath. He was starting to lose the battle with consciousness, surrendering even more weight to Jason and barely picking up his feet as they moved forward. Jason didn't say anything, though.

This was where the sewer opened up, and Jason could see their exit and zero bodyguards, so he figured they were pretty safe to climb up. Out, however, was a different story. They'd have to risk it, though, because Tim wouldn't be able to find them otherwise.

"Okay, Goldie," Jason said, shaking Dick back into what he hoped was awareness. Dick let out a pained breath and turned his head towards Jason, but didn't speak. Jason swallowed and kept talking. "We've gotta climb out of here. The Replacement should be waiting on the streets above us, but I can't get the both of us out of the sewers if you aren't conscious. Do you think you can hold on?"

"Yeah," Dick breathed, but it barely sounded coherent. Still, Dick shifted his arms to curl around Jason's neck with a pained groan. His grip was tight enough that Jason took a deep breath, checked that his guns were reloaded, and started up the ladder.

It was a rough climb, that was for sure. Jason tried to go as fast as he could, because it was clear that Dick was starting to fade out again, but Dick as also _heavy._ Jason was about ready to die—again—by the time he pushed the manhole cover out of the way and out onto the street.

Out in the open night's air, that unsettling feeling that had been crawling underneath Jason's skin disappeared, so did Dick's arms. They both laid on the pavement, Jason panting for breath and Dick most likely unconscious again at this point.

Jason couldn't find it in him to care any less.

 _"Red Robin to Red Hood."_

"Go," Jason said, trying to sound less exhausted than he felt. He wasn't sure he succeeded but Tim didn't comment on it.

 _"I'm tracking your GPS. ETA is about forty-five seconds."_

"There they are!" someone shouted from down the street and Jason groaned.

"Fucking hell," he murmured. "Hurry up, Red."

 _"Working on it,"_ was Tim's annoyed reply, just as the gunshots started up again. Of course, it was too dark, and the goons were too far away to make any accurate shots based on how many bullets hit the sidewalk about twenty feet away from Jason, but the bullets could just as easily stray.

 _Twenty-five seconds_. A long time when maniacs with guns were running straight at you and there was an unconscious vigilante you had to carry away from said gun-toting maniacs. Just as Jason was starting to push himself to his hands and knees, though, the Batmobile came screeching down the road from the other side, tires squealing as Tim rounded the armored car to act a shield from the men.

Jason sighed and slumped back down on the street below him. The door to the passenger side, which was closest to Jason and Dick, opened to reveal Tim, who hopped out immediately.

"Help me get him into the car," Tim demanded, and Jason did as he was told. He was too tired and wound up to snap back. Together, they managed to drag Dick into the car and situated in the backseat. Tim climbed back in, Jason following after, just as the bodyguards made it to the Batmobile.

Tim stepped on the gas, and soon they were speeding through the city at eighty miles per hour, leaving the bodyguards far behind. Jason sighed and slumped into the passenger seat, taking off his helmet.

The silence in the car was palpable, and Jason couldn't help but snap a sharp, _"What,"_ at Tim.

"What was that?" Tim asked, gripping the steering wheel far too tight.

"What was _what?"_

 _"That!"_ Tim cried out, gesturing with one hand to the streets of Robbinsville they'd already left far behind them. "What did I just bail you and Dick out of?!"

Jason shrugged. "We were taking out a drug lord who was targeting a bunch of kids."

"Taking him out," Tim repeated. "You were going to kill him."

It wasn't a question.

"Probably," Jason admitted. No use in denying it now. "Maybe not tonight. Why do you even care? I get why Batman would, but—"

"You're _kidding_ , right?" Tim yelled, cutting Jason off. He peeled his cowl off and turned wide eyes towards Jason. The kid looked—Jason thought he'd sounded angry, but Tim looked more scared than anything. "I just had to bail on Steph and Cass to save _your_ sorry ass. I honestly wouldn't even care if it were just _you_ doing something stupid—"

"Contrary to popular belief," Jason bit out, "I _do_ know what I'm doing."

"—but you went and dragged Dick into it!" Tim spoke over him, "who was supposed to be helping me, Steph, and Cass catch the Arkham escapees. We were a man short, and because I had to come bail you out, they're down _two_ people!"

"I didn't force Dick into helping me, you know," Jason said, a tinge of bitterness in his tone. "Goldie's a big kid who made his own decision to ditch you guys."

"Oh, I'll deal with Dick when he's conscious." Tim's grip on the steering wheel tightened even further, and he sped up, pushing almost one hundred mph. "But it was idiotic for you two to take on a case without at least _telling_ someone where you were and what you were doing!"

"You can't—"

Tim wasn't listening, though. "But because you two decided to go off on your own without telling anyone, Dick's hurt and no one even knew you needed help! You both could have been killed and nobody would have known until it was too late! God, I thought you actually learned something from the time you went off and got yourself—"

Tim cut himself, leaving the Batmobile in complete silence. Jason was honestly a little shocked. Tim sounded like he was channeling Dick, Bruce, _and_ Alfred, all at the same time, and Jason wasn't sure how to take it.

This was shy little Timmy? Sarcastic and exhausted to the point of bluntness, Jason got, but there was something of a leader in that voice. He sounded just like Dick did when he reprimanded Jason back when he was Robin. Or Dick leading the Titans way back when Jason got to hang out with them a few times.

Maybe it was all that time Tim spent with his team or whatever, but Tim was yelling at Jason like he was _twelve,_ and he'd almost mentioned Jason going off and getting himself killed, and Jason didn't appreciate _either_ of those things at that moment.

Tim's expression crumpled before Jason could ground anything out in response. "Will you just—Will you check on Dick? Make sure he's okay? He's too quiet."

Jason let out a breath and compressed his anger, focused it towards being helpful. He could argue with Tim later, when Dick wasn't passed out and bleeding in the back of the Batmobile.

"Fine," he said, and he climbed into the backseat, where Dick was sprawled out across the seats, his mouth slack. Jason tapped a cheek experimentally, but Dick's didn't even twitch. So, Jason went about addressing the wounds. None of them had bled through the pressure bandages very much, which proved Jason's theory that Dick wasn't going to bleed out any time soon.

He took off his gloves, and with relatively clean hands, he peeled back each pressure bandage slowly, carefully, and checked each wound. He checked the shoulder wound last, and he was just about to push the bandage back down when he noticed—

Jason sucked in a sharp breath.

"What?" Tim asked, his heck craned towards Jason, but his eyes stayed on the road. "What is it? Is he okay?"

Jason breathed out, closing his eyes, because Bruce was going to kill him, and then Damian and Tim and everybody else Dick was friends with—which was a lot of people, so there would be a line of people waiting to just pummel him. He would probably deserve it, too.

Dick wouldn't kill him, though, but that might just be because he wouldn't be able to. Not with an injury like this.

"Jason?" Tim asked, his voice small.

"I think you need to get to Leslie's," Jason finally said. "Now."

"Why?" Tim asked, taking a sharp turn and speeding towards Leslie's clinic. "What's wrong with him? Is he—he's not going to die, right?"

"No," Jason said, stripping off his leather jacket and using it to keep Dick's right arm immobilized to his chest. Jason was just making all sorts of mistake today, and the self-loathing that tightened his throat was almost overwhelming. "But his shoulder—it's bad. The sooner we get to Leslie's, the better."

Tim stepped on the gas, and Jason held Dick down, the rest of the ride to the clinic was spent in silence.

* * *

Two hours later, after Tim dropped Jason and Dick off at Leslie's and then left to back Steph and Cass up again, Jason was sitting next to Dick's bedside, his face in his hands.

This was so completely fucked up. Dick shouldn't be unconscious, shouldn't have had a bullet surgically removed from his shoulder, shouldn't have been lying here unconscious and in pain.

But he was. All al because Jason couldn't stop for two minutes and _think._

And of course, that was when Bruce—Batman—walked in. He didn't say anything to Jason at first, and Jason appreciated it when all he did was pull back his cowl and sit down next to Jason, staring at Dick's unconscious face (from painkillers this time, Leslie had assured him, not because of the pain).

The sat there for a while, but with each minute that ticked past, Jason felt the tension grow stronger and stronger. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore.

"Aren't you going to yell at me?" Jason asked, barely a hint of heat in his voice.

"No," said Bruce, still not looking at Jason. He kept his steady gaze on Dick, and he didn't elaborate.

"It was my fault, you know," Jason continued, not sure why he was trying to get Bruce to be— _something_ , he didn't know. Mad, betrayed, sad, _anything_ but this weird calm blankness. "I came up with the plan. I refused to call for backup. I didn't immobilize his arm when I should have, and now he's—"

Jason let out a frustrated breath, and they lapsed back into silence, but Jason was never one for silences when it came to Bruce. It was easier when there was yelling, but with Bruce not saying anything, Jason was having a hard time staying in control of himself. He wanted to punch or kick or _shoot_ something, and for once, it wasn't Bruce he wanted to do that to.

It was himself.

"Why aren't you angry?" Jason asked again, even quieter this time.

"I'm furious," Bruce told him, and Jason closed his eyes, a lump in his throat he hadn't known still existed making itself known. It had been so long since he'd felt like he could disappoint Bruce like this and _feel_ it. He hated it. "I'm furious that you two made such a rookie mistake. But yelling at you isn't going to help right now."

Jason opened his eyes again, swallowing past the lump, and said, "I guess not."

Dick moaned in pain then, and both Jason and Bruce were on their feet.

Dick's eyes cracked open, his baby blues bright with pain and hazed from medication. The fingers of his good hand spasmed wildly, like he was searching for something to hold onto, and Jason could only watch as Bruce slipped his hand into Dick's, squeezing lightly.

"Dick?" Bruce asked lightly.

 _"Dad."_ Dick's voice was halfway between a sob and a plea, and Jason felt something in his chest tighten at the sound of it. He'd never heard Dick sound so _broken_ before. Dick opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it once more before he was able to choke out, "Bruce, it hurts."

"I know," Bruce hushed him, using his other hand to sweep Dick's sweaty hair back from his forehead, and Jason stepped back to make it easier for Bruce to crowd Dick's space. "I know it hurts, Chum, but I'm here."

Dick's face crumpled up, and then there were tears streaming down his face as he looked up at Bruce's face. Jason hoped it was just the medication that was making Dick like this, because Jason didn't like watching Dick break down. It was like watching a city wall topple. A wall that Jason hadn't realized could _actually_ be broken down.

"The boy," Dick whispered. "And Jason—"

"Jason's fine," Bruce told Dick. "And the Sommers boy is with Jim and Barbara. The police picked up Darren Sommers, too. Everything's fine."

Jason threw a look at Bruce. "But his shoulder—"

"—will be fine," Bruce told him. "There weren't any complications, and as long as we keep an eye on it, he should be able to start physical therapy in a few months."

"Jason," Dick whispered, his grip on Bruce's hand visibly tightening. He didn't look like he was following anything very well, his eyes still hazy with drugs he was on. He looked like he was seconds from sleep. "Jason was with me."

"Relax, Dickiebird," Jason said, leaning forward slightly so Dick could see him without moving too much. "I'm right here."

Dick relaxed his hold then, and every ounce of energy left in his body at that moment seemed to fade, and then he rolled his head towards Bruce and whispered, "Don't leave."

"I won't," Bruce promised, and that seemed to be enough for Dick, because within seconds, he was asleep.

Jason ran his fingers through his hair, blowing out a breath. It had been a long night, and he definitely wasn't going to leave Dick's side when it was his fault Dick was even in this state. He sat back down heavily in his chair, and Bruce was letting go of Dick's hand and sitting down next to him a moment later.

"You really got the guy?" Jason asked.

"Yes," Bruce said, an edge of hardness in his tone. "They picked him up in Robbinsville, and the police have enough evidence collected against him to put him away. And his son will be living with his aunt in Metropolis."

"That's good." Jason didn't know what else to say.

Bruce was silent for a moment before he looked at Jason, who met his gaze evenly. He wasn't one to back down from a fight, especially not against Bruce, no matter how much he knew this was his fault.

"Can you just tell me what you were thinking?" Bruce finally asked. "Why didn't you tell anyone what you were doing? And why was Dick with you instead of with Tim and Cassandra?"

Jason tensed. "I don't control Dick, you know."

"He went with you for a reason, Jason," Bruce told him, his voice calm, but Jason could hear the anger in his tone.

Maybe it was just his imagination, but it made that lump in Jason's throat make itself known again, and he felt like he was _twelve_ goddamn years old again, grounded because he'd made a rookie mistake and could have gotten him or someone else killed in the lapse of judgement.

The worst part was that he was completely right. Jason had made such a rookie mistake. Dick had come with him and wanted to call for backup, but Jason hadn't let him. Jason had been so blinded by his anger that he'd thrown himself into the situation without stopping to think, and Dick had gone with him.

"I think," Jason sighed, slumping back in his chair and letting his head hit the wall behind him with an audible thump, "that Dick was worried I was going to do something stupid. Guess he was right."

"He was worried about you," Bruce said, and he sounded tired and resigned.

Jason stared at the ceiling for a moment longer before he said, "Yeah. He tried to call backup, too, and I told him only in an emergency. The stupid idiot went along with my stupid plan anyways, and look where it got him."

"Dick will be fine."

It sounded like a practiced line, and Jason swallowed the anger that threatened to rise up. How often did Bruce say that in the face of one of his soldiers getting hurt? Did he say that while looking for Jason, only to find Jason dead?

"Yeah," Jason said instead of voicing his thoughts. "Dick'll be fine."

"I'm getting you a new communicator," Bruce said out of the blue.

Jason snorted. "Sorry, B, mine's not broken."

"It doesn't connect to our private channel, though." Bruce was giving Jason an odd look, something almost unsteady in his gaze. "The new one will. You radio if you need help."

"I can take care of myself," Jason hissed, sitting up abruptly. "I don't need you to look after me like I'm some little kid—"

"It's for emergencies," Bruce interrupted, his gaze moving from Jason back to Dick, and Jason deflated, realizing the issue. "Radio if you need help."

Jason forced himself to breathe. "Fine," he ground out. "I'll call one of you if I need help."

Bruce nodded. "Good."

And that seemed to be it. No yelling. No spitting words of hate and anger in the heat of the moment that they'd both probably regret only hours later. No glares or disappointed looks. Just acceptance and then silence.

Jason, though, didn't want to break it anymore. The quiet moment, sitting here next to Dick's bedside together without fighting, gave Jason a moment to breathe. To think.

And Jason thought that maybe receiving a new comm. wouldn't be so bad. It may even be a step forward from this stupid dance he and Bruce seemed to be doing around each other, the one where they both got angry and refused to help each other. Maybe with a comm., Jason might even be inclined to use it.

"Thanks," Jason said at last.

"Thank me by using it," Bruce told him.

Jason nodded. "But only for emergencies."

Maybe this meant things were getting better between them, and for once, that didn't sound so bad.


End file.
